It's Just A Trick
by AngelicCavalier
Summary: Johnlock Oneshot. John visits Sherlock's grave for the first time in months and receives a shocking surprise.


John slowly got out of the cab, half-heartedly thanking the the driver as he paid him. He turned to face the small gate leading into the cemetary, raising a hand to brush the rain water from his eyes.

Fitting weather, for such a sad day.

As he started to navigate between the headstones, his shoes sinking into the mud with soft squelching sounds, John thought about why he was there. He'd avoided visiting Sherlock's grave for months, despite his therapist's insistence that it would help him. He had, however, agreed to do one thing his therapist suggested; writing letters to Sherlock.

John reached into his pocket and closed his hand around the small bundle of envelopes inside. The idea had seemed silly at the time. What was the point in writing letters to a dead man? But once he started writing the letters and getting his feelings down on paper, things he hadn't been able to tell Sherlock before he died, he realized that his therapist had been right. It really did help.

Before he knew it, John was standing in front of Sherlock's grave. He stared at it for a long time, a lump already forming in his throat. Time definitely hadn't made this any less painful.

After a few minutes, when he felt like he had his emotions in check, John drew the envelopes from his pocket and held them close to his chest with one hand. He'd wrapped them in plastic before he left the Flat, not wanting the to get wet, and the rustling of the plastic was the only sound besides the rain.

John crouched down and gently set the bundle on top of a small slab of stone in front of the gravestone. He reached out and ran his fingers over the engraving of Sherlock's name, and the lump in his throat came back, alone with an ache in his chest. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and he tried to blink them back. But he only succeeded in making them fall.

"There were so many things I didn't get to tell you." John said, his voice cracking. "So many important things. I was scared to tell you, and I lost my chance."

John took a shuddering breath, then picked up the bundle of letters again. "My therapist told me to write letters to you. She said it would bring me closure. I wrote everything I didn't get to tell you, and I wrote about the things that happened after you died, but it just... It doesn't feel right." He quickly set the letters down again, taking a small breath before talking again.

"I know you can't hear me, but saying it out loud seems more appropriate than writing it." John paused, resting his hand on the headstone again. "I love you, Sherlock. I've always loved you. I wish I'd gotten the chance to tell you, but..." John tried to continue, but couldn't. He let out a choked sob that he'd been holding back and hugged his elbows, resting his forehead against his knees. His entire body started trembling, and his sobs cut through the sound of the rain. He didn't bother trying to stifle them. There wasn't anyone there to hear him, anyway.

John stiffened when he heard footsteps behind him. Before he could turn around, a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him close. A low voice whispered in his ear, one that John still heard in his dreams.

"I love you too, John."

His breath hitched in his throat, and he slowly turned to stare wide-eyed at the man behind him. "Sh-Sherlock?"

Sherlock gave John one of his rare smiles. One that always made his heart skip . Now was no exception.

"You're alive." John muttered, barely able to get the words out. "But how? I saw you fall. I-I saw you die."

Sherlock shook his head. "You saw me fall. You didn't see me die." He said. "Didn't I tell you? 'It's just a trick'." John's eyes widened further.

"You faked your death?" He asked incredulously. He looked at Sherlock for a moment, then narrowed his eyes, anger replacing his shock. "You bastard! How could you do that? Do you have any idea how devastated I was? I thought you were dead! I thought I would never see you again!" While he was speaking, John repeatedly hit Sherlock in the chest, partly to emphasize his point and partly to let his anger out. Fresh tears slipped down his cheeks, and he gradually stopped hitting Sherlock until his hands were simply resting on Sherlock's chest. He hung his head so that Sherlock couldn't see him crying. "I... I thought..."

Sherlock's arms were around him again, and this time, John welcomed the embrace, clinging tightly to Sherlock's coat.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock said softly. "I had to do it. To protect you. Please understand that."

John shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. After he'd calmed down, he looked up at Sherlock, really taking him in for the first time. His eyes were rimmed with red, and they had dark circles under them. He looked terrible.

But he was alive.

"Did you mean it?" John asked, his voice small. He knew he didn't need to elaborate. Sherlock nodded.

"Absolutely."

John didn't wait for him to finish speaking before leaning up and timidly pressing his lips to Sherlock's, who went rigid with surprise before relaxing. When John felt Sherlock's lips moving against his own, he gained a little more confidence, and he stood up on his toes to wrap his arms around Sherlock's neck.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime to John. He pulled back to look up at Sherlock, smiling for the first time in months. "I'm glad you're back." He said, kissing Sherlock again without giving him a chance to respond.

He leaned forward so that Sherlock was supporting most of his weight. The kiss was much better than the first, leaving John both breathless and weak-kneed.

Sherlock was the one to pull away this time, and John took both of his hands in his own. "Can you come back to the Flat?" He asked hopefully. Sherlock hesitated, then nodded.

"I can come back."

John's face lit up, and he started to pull Sherlock in the direction of the road. He held onto Sherlock's hand tightly, as if he were terrified that he would disappear if he let go.

The two of them got into a cab, still hand-in-hand, and gave the driver the address of the Flat. John glanced over at Sherlock and smiled softly to himself. He hadn't been happy for so long. Now, with Sherlock beside him again, he finally could be.

Fin


End file.
